


The Deep Parts Pour Onward

by soufflegirl91



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, Bond is curious, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Post-Skyfall, Q took lessons in urban camouflage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: In the weeks after Skyfall, after the dust settles, James Bond becomes curious about his bright new Quartermaster. Over the next year, James finds himself learning more about the new Q, but the more he learns, the more he wants to know. Along the way, he might even learn a thing or two about himself.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 81
Kudos: 461
Collections: 2019-2020 00Q Reverse Big Bang





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tibby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibby/gifts).



> Written for the 00Q Reverse Big Bang 2019-2020, and for Tibby's amazing piece of art (which you'll see in the last chapter, where it fits in the story). 
> 
> The title took a lot of agonizing (and may still end up being changed one day!). This is a condensed version of the poem "the deep parts of my life pour onward" by Rilke. Check it out, if you feel like it :) 
> 
> Many thanks as always to the wonderful Christinefromsherwood, who remains the most wonderful and patient beta in existence.

Just who was this young upstart with his cardigans, his personalised mug, and his laptop covered in stickers? 

In the weeks after killing Silva, after the dust had settled from the death of the previous (the _real_ ) M, James Bond started to wonder about the new Q.

Now, James would be the first person to admit that he had never spent a lot of time in Q branch during Major Boothroyd’s tenure. No field agent had done - the Major was very much of the opinion that the boffins in R&D made the gadgets and the agents used them. He had very little interest in the opinion or feedback those agents might have given if asked, which was probably why he had developed things like invisible cars and whistle-activated keychain explosives. 

R&D had been Boothroyd’s pride and joy. If absolutely necessary, the computer geeks in TSS might be called upon to help an agent out of a tight spot, but the old Quartermaster had a frowning distaste for computers, and thus TSS was perpetually under-funded at the expense of practical field support for the 00 section. 

This new Q, however, whilst not providing much in the way of flamboyant gadgetry, took the field agents seriously. Palm-coded guns were just one of many practical developments. He had even updated the after action paperwork to include a _feedback form_ on how effective the equipment was and how it could be improved.

In the space of a few short months, Q branch had been dragged into the 21st century. Gone were the lab coats covering formal suits. The dress code in Q branch these days seemed to be much more “office casual with a side of hacker chic.” In fact, many of the staff seemed to be new to MI6. From James’ understanding and the office rumour mill, however, this seemed to be down to an aging workforce mostly deciding to take early retirement following Silva’s explosion, rather than the old guard being forced out by the bright young things. 

In the weeks between M’s funeral and finally being cleared for a new mission, James had seen Q around MI6 a number of times. He had made it clear that Bond was welcome to spend time in Q branch, but that time would be spent testing weapons, giving feedback on performance and suggestions and offering advice for current missions. 

The first time James had turned up uninvited, intending to see just how difficult it would be to charm this prickly new Q, he had found an assault rifle thrust into his hands with instructions to “see if you can break it, the new range is down that way.” 

Not how he had planned for his afternoon to go, but enjoyable all the same. Q hadn’t seemed the slightest bit annoyed when James had returned, no worse for wear himself but the rifle in pieces and the barrel bent at an odd angle. In fact, he had seemed pleased. 

“If we know how it breaks, we know how to fix it,” he’d explained. “Can’t make something double oh-proof without knowing where the weaknesses are.”

Bond kept coming back, and Q kept giving him tasks. They settled into a routine of sorts, and James would never admit that he liked this new Quartermaster a hell of a lot more than the last one. 

So just where had Q come from? He hadn’t been at MI6 before James decided to play dead in Turkey, James was _sure_ he would have noticed that hair around the place. 

But then again, Q seemed to have a talent for not being noticed when he didn’t want to be. The double ohs were trained to blend in. James had never really managed it, but Q… 

Q was a natural. 

The first time they met, James had completely overlooked him. He knew he was there to meet the new Quartermaster, but it had never, not once, occurred to him that the young man with floppy hair, glasses and a _parka_ could be Q. James had assumed he was an over-enthusiastic art student, or someone who thought flirting over paintings was the best way to find a date. If Q hadn’t introduced himself, James knew that while he might have remembered the unusual non-sequitur, he never would have remembered anything about the man himself. 

It became apparent over the next few missions that Q had a talent for blending in.


	2. London

The second time they met outside of the tunnels temporarily housing Q branch, James had been summoned to a bench along the Queen’s Walk, outside the Southbank Centre. Why they couldn’t just meet in Q branch, Q didn’t say and James didn’t ask. Presumably, even the head boffin wanted to see daylight occasionally. 

So here he was, the January afternoon cold but sunny and bright, sat on a bench waiting for Q. Again. 

James looked around, and couldn’t help feeling slightly out of place. There were enough office blocks around that there were no shortage of men in suits, even if those suits weren’t in the same price range as Bond’s, but the businessmen were always rushing from one place to the next. They certainly weren’t sat awkwardly on benches opposite a skate park, wondering when their colleague was going to turn up. 

Still, this was London, and nobody cared about anybody else’s business. He didn’t rate a second glance, not even from the teenagers skipping school to skateboard over graffitied ramps. 

James sighed and rubbed his bad shoulder distractedly, wondering if he really was getting too old and jaded for this game.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

The voice came from behind him. It was only the years of training that stopped James from startling. 

Q had managed to sneak up on him,  _ again _ . This time, he even knew who he was looking out for! Had he really been so lost in his thoughts not to notice a familiar parka or cardigan approaching? 

“Nothing worth so much as a penny,” James grumbled. Anything else he planned to say fled his mind as Q rounded the bench and sat, placing a scruffy backpack at his feet. 

Q, who was not wearing a cardigan. Or a parka. Or even his glasses.

Q who was wearing  _ skinny jeans _ . And a well-worn Vans t-shirt. Carrying a  _ hoodie. _ And was that a  _ tattoo _ peeking out from his left sleeve?! 

James wasn’t gawping. Double oh agents  _ did not _ gawp. He was… looking intensely. Q raised an eyebrow.

“Is there a problem, 007?”

James cleared his throat, trying to throw off his sudden awkwardness. 

“Not at all, Q. I simply didn’t expect you to look so… casual.” 

The eyebrow rose higher. Was that a smirk on his face, or was James imagining things?

“Well, we can’t all go around wearing Tom Ford all the time.” The smirk eased casually into a friendly smile. “I’m taking the afternoon off, after this. Built up too much overtime. Thought I might kill two birds with one stone and meet you on the way out.” 

Was this how Q always dressed when he wasn’t on the clock? 

Was this relaxed, scruffy look the  _ real _ Q?

James must not have been hiding his shock as well as he thought, as Q gave him an odd look.

“What?”

“You have a tattoo.” 

Q glanced down to where the edge of his tattoo was just visible.

“Oh, this thing?” He pushed the sleeve up out of the way, displaying a stylised spiral running through a number of boxes. The design rang a bell in James’s mind, and after a moment he recognised the golden ratio. He stared (transfixed) at the mass of black lines on smooth, pale skin, as Q continued drily: “Poor decisions, and all that. A reminder of my misspent youth.” 

Something about Q’s tone didn’t quite ring true. For Q, who had arranged their first meeting in an art gallery, and who was most probably the smartest person James would ever meet, a tattoo symbolizing both mathematics and beauty hardly seemed like a ‘poor decision’.

It made sense. 

“So, what, last week?” 

A tactical retreat to their usual witty banter was required. James needed time to consider this new information about his Quartermaster. His  _ tattooed _ Quartermaster. Boothroyd certainly didn’t have any tattoos.

Well, James  _ hoped _ he didn’t. That was not a mental image he needed!

The snark had the desired effect, Q huffed out a laugh and shook his head, pulling his sleeve back down. 

“I’m older than I look.” Q’s tone was teasing, but he was smiling. “I’m even old enough to  _ vote _ . Just because I’m not old enough to claim my pension yet, like  _ someone here.. _ .” 

Q, James decided, had a truly lovely smile. The kind that brightened up a room. Or a London skate park. 

The sound of one of the teenagers falling off their skateboard in the distance brought them both back to attention. Q’s focus returned visibly, like a door slamming shut behind his eyes.

James was impressed. Not every agent could shut down like that, let alone support staff. 

“Your kit and documentation is in the bag. It’s all there.”

Really, it was like Q was a completely different person from the man who casually sat down on a bench a few minutes ago. 

If James didn’t know any better, he would have said that was an act and  _ this _ was the real Q. But no one was that professional  _ all _ the time, surely?! 

He needed more data. 

“Won’t I look a bit odd, wandering off with your backpack?” 

Q gave him the most sardonic  _ ‘honestly _ , 007’ look he had yet received. 

“Take a look around you, Bond. How many men in suits carrying plain, dark coloured backpacks do you see?” 

James did as he was told.

Oh.

“Twelve.” 

“That’s right. These days, even people who have to wear  _ suits _ to work carry their work around in backpacks. Briefcases are  _ so _ old fashioned, and a laptop bag is too obvious to the common London thief.” 

“Right.” 

When had he missed that? Did he just go away for a mission one day, and by the time he came back, the rest of the world cared more for comfort than the look of the thing? Honestly, a suit with a  _ backpack _ , what was the  _ point _ ?! You might as well just buy your suit from Primark. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me if most of them bought their suits from Primark.”

What, was Q a mind reader now, too?! 

“Right,” Bond said again, like a broken record. 

Here he was, in his tailored, not exactly cheap suit, sat next to someone in jeans and a t-shirt  _ in January _ , looking around at businessmen in cheap suits and off-brand backpacks. 

He had never felt so out of touch with the city he called home. 

“Well, if that’s all?” Q’s voice broke James out of he reverie he hadn’t noticed. “Good luck out there in the field, 007. I expect you to try a bit harder to bring the equipment back in one piece, this time.” 

Q stuck his hand out somewhat awkwardly, and James shook it on autopilot. With that, Q put his hoodie on (Star Wars logo, James should have known) and walked off.

No, not walked. Strolled, casually. Slightly slouched, dragging his feet. Looking like he had nowhere to be and was just seeing where his feet would take him.

Brave new world, indeed. 


	3. Sölden

The next time James saw Q “in the wild” as it were, wasn’t until the end of March. James was in Austria trying to stop a terrorist plot aimed at a popular ski resort. 

Late winter had seen 007 sent to Kraków, Tbilisi and Tallinn. Q had been the epitome of professionalism over the comms, no sign of any underlying “real” personality. The closest he had come was making a comment about the “Nazgûl statues” in the Danish King’s Garden. 

Whenever they crossed paths in MI6, Q was buttoned up in one of his hideously expensive but admittedly fashionable cardigans, and was unfailingly polite, but distant. 

Maybe James _had_ been seeing something that wasn’t there, that day on the South Bank. 

Maybe the scruffy, relaxed Q of that January day was the act, and _this_ was the real Q? 

Usually, James was able to get a clear read on people very quickly. He had _thought_ he had a read on Q that day in the gallery, and then that day on the bench, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

Who was Q, _really?_

Was there any truth to the tattooed, Star Wars hoodie-wearing, bright-smiling man? 

It was a mystery. James Bond didn’t like mysteries. 

He mentally resolved to work out the enigma that was Q as he glanced around the quiet bar. It being early in the day, aside from a few small groups of patrons more interested in the après-ski than actual skiing, there were only a couple of people warming up with hot chocolate or brandy. Not knowing who his MI6 contact was, James had chosen a booth with a good view of the bar, door and windows out onto the ski slopes. He nursed his glass of single malt as he wondered who they would send this time. 

Moneypenny? James knew she was a competent skier, but the new M seemed loathe to let her out of his sight for long enough to drop fresh equipment off in Sölden. 

Tanner hated the snow, so he was probably out. 

One of the other double ohs, perhaps. Trevelyan was certainly at home in the snow, but James was pretty sure he was still in Smolensk. 

Suddenly, movement outside the window caught his eye. A skier approached, competently coming to a halt by the ski racks. It was the first person he’d seen coming anywhere near the bar since James himself had arrived. The man removed his skis easily and placed them in the ski rack, then took off his helmet, though he still had a black balaclava covering his head and was wearing ski goggles.

The man approached the door to the bar, and James gave him an involuntary once over. Slim figure, not tall but not short, walking naturally in ski boots, so obviously a regular skier. He pushed open the door, and casually looked around as he went to remove his ski goggles, though James couldn’t see if the man’s eyes lingered anywhere in particular. 

He walked straight up to the bar, as though he had no interest in any of the other patrons, ordering a drink too quietly for Bond to hear. The barman passed over a mug of something hot, the man paid, removed his balaclava and picked up his drink, turning to find a seat.

Q walked straight over to the booth where James sat.

James couldn’t have done it better himself. 

“They didn’t tell me they were sending you.” 

Q sat down, unzipping his ski jacket to show a sleek, black sweater not unlike the one James was wearing. 

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get away,” Q replied simply, blowing on his mug to cool the drink James could now smell was tea. 

“I also didn’t know this place did Earl Grey,” James remarked. It was true, he hadn’t known, but then James didn’t actually _like_ Earl Grey, so he never would have asked. 

“There are enough rich British visitors to make having a reasonable tea selection worth their while.” Q took a sip and sighed happily, shoulders relaxing. 

He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Just like he had on the South Bank. Just like he had at the National Gallery. 

James hadn’t pegged Q as someone who would be comfortable going out in the field. He seemed too at home in his computer dungeon surrounded by minions. But here he was, in a bar in Austria, looking right at home. 

James struggled for something to say, unwilling to let this opportunity to learn more about the Quartermaster slide. 

“Have you been skiing long?” 

Q raised an eyebrow at the choice of topic, but shrugged smoothly. 

“Annual secondary school trip to Chamonix. I’ve been a few times since, usually somewhere in the French Alps. Andorra, once. Italy a couple of times. This is my first time to Austria.” 

“It sounds like you’ve been more times than me,” James laughed. “For pleasure, at least. We used to come all the time when I was a child, but then…” 

“Your parents.” Q finished the thought. “You were eleven?”

“Yes. I went a couple of times during university, to banish the memories more than anything. Work keeps me up to scratch with the skiing, of course, but I haven’t been on a ski holiday for years.” 

Why was he telling Q this? 

James did not give out personal information willy nilly. He might give out his name to anyone who asked (in his experience, it was easier to break the alias yourself than have someone see through it), but none of those people would be able to tell you anything about James Bond aside from his name and that he was good with a gun (amongst other things). 

He certainly did _not_ talk about his childhood. 

“I suppose when you do something a lot for work, you tend not to want to in your spare time,” Q mused, smiling sympathetically. “I’m the same, really. I try to switch off as much as I can, when I’m at home. Too much screen time.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” James chuckled disbelievingly, “I bet you take your phone with you in the shower. You probably have a special waterproof casing.” 

Before Q could reply, the bartender approached their table, asking if they wanted anything else to drink. Q declined politely, gesturing to his still half-full mug of tea and praising the quality of the blend. His German was word-perfect, if a bit stilted. James finished the last dregs of his whisky and ordered a coffee, knowing he’d be back out in the cold and on the chase again soon enough. 

As the bartender walked away to get the drink, Q gave James a contemplative look he couldn’t quite read.

“Believe it or not, 007, I _do_ have a life outside of work.” 

“Oh, really?” James couldn’t help the flirtatious tone that crept into his voice, it was habit as much as it was a defense mechanism.

“Really. All work and no play makes James a dull boy.” Q smirked. “You should try it sometime.”

James spluttered, _actually_ spluttered. 

Q laughed, giving James that bright smile again, and suddenly it didn’t seem so bad that he’d just been called _dull_. 

The barman, clearly in possession of excellent timing, chose that moment to return with James’s coffee. He thanked the man, passing over a five euro note and telling him to keep the change. 

When he turned back to Q, the invisible door had slammed again, and the Quartermaster was back in full force. 

“Here’s the USB drive with the worm we need you to install,” he said, passing a small, anonymous-looking thumb drive over the table. James pocketed it without a word. “Our latest intel suggest that Mr Schmidt is staying at the Hotel Bergland, room 137.”

“Any suggestions on how to get in? Room service and disable them, or drug them and then break in?”

Q shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“It’s always a statement with you, isn’t it, 007? I’m not sure you’d know the meaning of the word ‘subtle’ if a dictionary hit you on the head.” 

James would have seriously considered being offended, if not for the teasing smile Q gave him. So there _was_ a personality under there somewhere, after all. 

“No, _I_ will be in your hotel room, remotely activating the fire alarms in that wing of the hotel. All of the guests and staff will be evacuated and the electronic locks should be disabled. _You_ will then get into the room, get the information we need from Schmidt’s laptop, install the worm and get out.”

Well, that worked, too. 

James was reminded once again how the new, more technical Q branch was changing the way missions were carried out. He wouldn’t consider himself to be a dinosaur, though he knew Q probably did, but the days of forcing your way in and shooting your way out were a lot… simpler. 

“Oh, and I need your phone.” 

“What, why? Don’t you have a way of accessing it remotely?” 

“Yes, but you still need to actually _download_ the apps I’ve sent through. Hand it over.”

James did so, watching Q’s thumbs fly as he did… something. 

“Not Candy Crush, I assume?” James used his most teasing voice and was rewarded with a quirk of Q’s lips.

“I’m amazed you know what Candy Crush is, 007, but no. The laptop is in the hotel room safe. This will help us get in. A bit quicker than a stethoscope and trial and error, hopefully. I’ve also loaded a copy of the room key, just in case the alarms don’t unlock it for you.” 

Q handed the phone back, their fingers brushing slightly as James took it. 

“I’ll head over to your room now,” Q said, zipping his coat back up, “I suggest you make your way to the Hotel Bergland and familiarise yourself with the layout. I’ll text you when it’s go time.”

With that, the Quartermaster stood up, re-donned his balaclava and headed outside to become just another anonymous skier. 

An anonymous skier on his way to _James’s_ hotel room. Wasn’t that a thought. 

James Bond was not the kind of man who examined his emotions closely. If he did, he might have realised that he was developing more than just a professional interest in his new Quartermaster. 


	4. Prague

A wet, grey London spring had turned into a surprisingly pleasant early summer by the time James next required assistance from Q branch in the field. 

The last time he had been in the field with Q, back in Sölden, it had been… interesting. Q had proven himself many times over since that first meeting but, somehow, he kept surprising James at every turn. 

With Q in his ear, offering field support from only a few hundred metres away, James had achieved his mission objective in record time without even needing to draw his weapon and was on his way to his next target before the evening was through. 

Even now, Q’s worm was working its way through Schmidt’s network of contacts, destabilising his operation and sowing the seeds for MI6 to take them all down when the time was right. 

The previous M, James was sure, would have sent him to neutralise Schmidt in the first instance and worry about his contacts later. Mallory had a different view. Better to drive a copper nail into the tree trunk and chop it down once it had succumbed.

James privately wondered how much of it was down to a change of management, and how much was down to finally embracing the 21st century. 

He supposed they amounted to the same thing, in the end. 

Old habits die hard, as Q had not-so-subtly reminded him in Austria. But while James’s first thought had always been to barge in and fight his way out, he had to admit that Q’s way was better. Sure, the adrenaline rush wasn’t quite the same, but it was preferable to pretending that all of the cuts and bruises that came with James’s usual strategy didn’t  _ hurt _ . 

Maybe he really was getting old. 

In the months since, James had found himself finding excuses to visit Q branch more than he ever had in Boothroyd’s day. When Q had questioned him, James had simply said that if he was expected to adapt to what M euphemistically called “smarter ways of working,'' he wanted to learn how the magic happened. 

Q had raised a cynical eyebrow at him, but wordlessly pointed him in the direction of a different team every time he came down. After the fourth time, he stopped looking surprised at James’s presence. 

It wasn’t  _ quite _ what James was going for, but at least he could now say that he appreciated the work Q branch did more than ever before. It had also given him the chance to observe the Quartermaster more closely, even without his undivided attention. 

What he saw only intrigued him more. 

Q at work was usually serious, but never humourless. He seemed to know his agents well enough by now to know who would respond well to snark and who to treat with impersonal professionalism. To his satisfaction, James noted that Q never seemed to tease any of the others as he did James. 

He noticed that Q always dressed professionally, if  _ uniquely _ in MI6, unless he had been called in for an emergency while he had been sleeping. On one memorable occasion, James had walked in to be kitted out for a mission to find Q in an immaculate shirt and tie, paired with tartan pyjama bottoms. He decided it was best not to ask.

Q’s work ethic was unsurpassed within his branch. He never accepted any slacking from his minions, but he led by a commendable example. More than once, James had brought in lunch for Q just so that he could be sure Q had eaten something. 

Now, here James was, three months after Sölden, sitting on a bench in Prague, once again waiting for his Quartermaster.

Some time over the past three months, James had started thinking of Q as  _ his _ Quartermaster. 

Even though Q was responsible for all of the other double ohs in the field, there seemed to be something different about his relationship with James. Whether that was simply down to his own efforts to get to know and understand Q, or whether Q genuinely treated James differently, he didn’t know. Either way, he felt that his relationship with Q was… special, in some way. 

He certainly seemed to be the only agent that Q was willing to meet in the field. 

James knew, because he had asked. 

003 had laughed at the idea of Q ever leaving Q branch. She seemed to think Q had a camp bed squirrelled away in his office. He didn’t, James had looked.

008 hadn’t even  _ met _ the new Quartermaster yet, still on medical leave after a six-month deep cover mission that ended badly. 

004 said that the last time she had needed field support from Q branch, they had sent R, but that could have just been because R blended in better in Chennai than pale, gangly Q. 

006 spent most of his time on deep cover missions that didn’t have the option of Q branch supporting in person. 

005 had questioned Q’s ability to go into the field without getting shot. James had subsequently questioned 005’s ability to open his mouth without getting shot. 

Whoever he asked, it seemed that Q had not deigned to leave his branch for them, even for an equipment drop in London. 

No, something was definitely different about his relationship with James. James just wished he could figure out  _ what _ .

Maybe Q didn’t trust him with his minions? No, that couldn’t be it, or he wouldn’t have let James spend so much time in Q branch lately. 

Maybe Q didn’t trust  _ him? _ But he always seemed happy enough to spend time with James. 

Maybe Q thought James needed extra support? That… could be it, actually.

Q did seem to like making pointed comments about James’s age, wrapped up in metaphor or vague observations. 

Was that it, then? Q thought James was old, and needed Q’s support in person lest he drop down dead the moment Q turned his back?

“Did you know, the  _ Pražský orloj _ is the third-oldest astronomical clock in the world? And the only one still in operation?”

How,  _ how _ had Q done it again?! This was the third time he had announced his presence before James had even noticed him approach.

Clearly, James needed to go back to spy school.

Or, as Q would probably suggest, get his eyes checked. 

“A suit, again 007? Really? Next, you’re going to tell me you go to Tesco in your best Tom Ford.”

Q caught James’s gaze and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. 

And once again, James realised, Q had managed to sneak up on him by blending in with the crowd. 

James, knowing he was meeting Q, had been on the lookout for that unmistakable mop of (very soft-looking, makes-you-want-to-run-your-fingers-through-it) hair. Q, however, was wearing a baseball cap.

In generic blue jeans and a polo neck t-shirt, Q looked just like any other tourist. No slogans, no brands. If anyone were to give his description to someone with nefarious purposes, they would have no chance of finding him again. 

Grudgingly, James decided that Q’s chameleon strategy might have merit. 

“Just because everyone else’s standards have slipped, doesn’t mean an  _ international salesman _ shouldn’t look his best. And I’ll thank you to remember that I didn’t wear a suit in Sölden.”

Q laughed, and James preened a little. Making Q laugh had become one of his favourite hobbies. It didn’t happen often enough. 

“I would hope that even you don’t wear a suit to ski, Bond.” 

James conceded the point with a shrug and a nod. Not wanting the meeting to end too soon, he latched onto the first topic of conversation he could find.

“Since when do you speak Czech? Have you been here before?”

“Oh, I don’t speak Czech, this is my first time in Prague, and I wanted to see some of the tourist sights while I was here, so I… checked the pronunciation on Google Translate.” 

If James hadn’t been looking at Q’s face, he never would have noticed the light blush that crossed his cheeks. He looked flustered. It was charming. 

James chuckled, which soon turned into a full belly laugh. Q tried to look stern. For the first time since they had met, it failed. Before long, Q was laughing too. 

It was ridiculous. Two senior members of MI6 laughing their heads off in the middle of a crowd of tourists. James couldn’t remember the last time he felt so light-hearted. 

The tourists, being tourists, paid them no attention. They were used to people behaving strangely in foreign parts.

“So, what else did Google teach you about Prague?” 

Q’s eyes lit up. 

“It’s really a fascinating city. Totally lost on most of the Brits who come here just for a stag do and cheap booze. For instance, many people think the Charles Bridge is haunted. There’s a mathematical significance, too - King Charles IV was superstitious, so he laid the first stone at 5.31am on July 9, 1357.”

“Why would he do that?” James was by no means bad at maths, but the significance meant nothing to him at first glance.

“If you read it as year, date, month, time, it’s 1-3-5-7-9-7-5-3-1.”

James laughed again. Only Q would come out with that as one of his most memorable facts about Prague. 

“The same king also commissioned the defensive wall for the Malá Strana. It’s called the Hunger Wall, because it provided a livelihood for the poor, and… you’re laughing at me!” Q stopped with a self-deprecating laugh. 

“Laughing, maybe, but I’m not laughing at you,” James smiled. 

Q raised a sceptical eyebrow. 

“You know, I’ve been to Prague more than half a dozen times over the years, and you probably know more about the city than I do.” 

The smile Q gave him this time was different to the usual impersonal-but-polite work smile, or the blindingly happy smile James had seen more than once and was always trying to see again. This smile was shy, but also a little bit proud. 

“I’ve always been interested in history, ever since primary school. Of course, at school it’s mostly British history, but as you can probably guess, I’m a bit of an autodidact. I borrowed all of the history books from the children’s section of the local library before year 5, and just moved on to the adult’s section. Also, it’s fun to pick out the holes in classic works or historical fiction. Like Shakespeare’s non-existent Bohemian sea coast in The Winter’s Tale.” 

“Now, Q,” James said in his most serious voice, “next, you’ll be telling me that there are no bears, and poor Antigonus got killed by wild rabbits.”

Q looked at James with a surprised, but pleased, expression, clearly not expecting him to understand the reference. 

“No, there were definitely bears in Shakespeare’s day. Much to the chagrin of stage directors, I’m sure.” Q snorted. James thought that such an indelicate snort really shouldn’t sound so… endearing. 

“So, of all the tourist spots in Prague, why did you pick the clock?” James couldn’t help but ask. 

“I’ve always wanted to see it. I went through an astronomy phase when I was younger, and learned all about it. But being here, it’s not the science that stands out. It’s seeing something that’s been through so much, seen so many regimes come and go, nearly been destroyed several times over, but it’s still standing. It still works, and so many people are fascinated by it.” 

Ah, there it was. Q’s big reason for meeting in front of a 600 year old clock - a metaphor. 

James should have guessed. Just when he had started to think that maybe Q no longer thought him old and useless, here he was being compared to an ancient bloody  _ clock _ . 

“Well, I suppose it’s a bit more flattering than, what was it you said? ‘A grand old warship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap.’ Still think I’m outdated, then?”

“What?” Q frowned. “Oh,  _ that _ . I was talking about the painting. I don’t think you’re outdated at all. A little old-fashioned in your methods, maybe,” he gestured at James’s immaculate suit, “but when it comes to the pulling or  _ not-pulling _ of triggers, you somehow remain ahead of the curve.” 

Somewhere in there, James was pretty sure there was a compliment. As usual with Q, though, it was wrapped up so well in snark that it took James a moment to work it out. 

“Thank you. I think.” 

Q smiled warmly, and turned back to examine the clock appreciatively. The hour was chiming and the figures flanking the clock were moving. Two windows above the clock opened to show a procession of what James assumed to be religious figures. He was sure that if he asked, Q would tell him. 

As the windows closed once more, the crowds began to disperse. James could see the exact moment when Q realised he had come here for mission reasons and not just to take in the clock. As always, the change was instantaneous and almost physical.

“I have the replacement Walther and a new set of comms for you. As always, Q branch  _ appreciates _ your efforts  _ not _ to break our tech. It really would save time in budget meetings. New intel suggests that the target may have a hacker of his own working for him, so I’ll be sticking around to see this one out with you, just in case. We have him checking in at the Smetana Hotel tonight, but flight logs show his plane won’t land until after nine.” 

At that, James had an idea. He stood up, and turned to Q.

“Plenty of time, then. Come on.”

“Plenty of time for what? Come where?” Q frowned. He really was frowning too much today. 

“Well, you’ve never been to Prague before, but you’ve done your research. I know my way around, but I’ve never paid much attention. We have all afternoon, so I’ll navigate and you can play tour guide.”

Q hesitated, just for a second, but then he smiled brighter than ever and James felt a tug in his chest that he didn’t want to examine too closely. 

Q stood, holding out another generic black backpack, which James shouldered without comment, and pulled an  _ actual list _ out of his pocket. 

“Did you really make a list of tourist attractions? For a mission?” 

Q blushed again. James decided that he should try and make Q blush more often, it was delightful. 

“Well, there’s nothing much to do this afternoon. I was going to drop the kit off and meet back up with you this evening. But if you’re willing to show me around, that saves on using mobile data for a map.” 

Q grinned cheekily. James decided it was best not to comment on being a convenient substitute for Google Maps. 

“So, where to first?”

“If we head towards the river, we should be able to see the castle. Did you know, Prague Castle is the largest castle in the world?”

As James led the way towards Kaprova with a spring in his step. It was going to be an interesting afternoon.


	5. Rhodes

The warm, late summer sun was shining, the waves were lapping against the sandy shore, and James Bond was sunbathing. 

At this time of the year, Pallas beach was not too busy. Most of the holidaymakers had come and gone now that schools all over Europe were back in session, so most of his fellow beachgoers were couples who left him alone. Solo travellers often got a raised eyebrow at resorts like Lindos, but they were far from uncommon, and if anyone wondered about the empty sun lounger next to him, they were too polite to ask. 

It had been a good summer for James. 

Starting with the mission in Prague, Q had provided a list of local places of interest on all of his subsequent missions. Whenever possible, James had tried to take the time to see a few of them, taking photos on his mobile or buying postcards for Q and even describing them to him over the comms if Q branch had a lull in active missions. Although he had been to most of the places before, Q’s insight helped him to see them in a new light, rather than just as the backdrop of yet another mission. 

Since Prague, James had even managed to lure Q out aboveground in London for lunch or dinner a few times. On one memorable occasion, when Q had been sent out of Q branch for working too many hours in a row, but was still too wired to go home and sleep, James had taken him to the Tower of London. They had both been before, but Q’s sleep-deprived babble of historic facts was both interesting and adorable. 

James had already known all about the famous public executions of historic figures such as Anne Boleyn, and the mysterious disappearance of the Princes in the Tower, but the way Q told (with perhaps far too much relish) of the gruesome death of Margaret Pole made him wonder if he shouldn’t have done more research of his own. 

_ “It took the executioner  _ eleven _ attempts to decapitate her. Eleven! And she didn’t even die before her head finally came off. She was 68! Imagine! It’s a good job we train you double ohs to do the job properly. Even if you do make a mess of the rest of the rest of the mission, you do the killing part neatly.”  _

Yes, it had been a good summer since Prague. 

Prague had been… different. Delightful. 

Q had been the happiest James had ever seen him, excited to see all the places he had read about and telling James so many seemingly random facts that he had no idea where Q found the space to keep them all in that brain of his. Not just facts about Prague, either. They had paused at an ice cream shop on Kaprova, at James’s insistence, before heading down to the river. 

_ “Did you know that the origins of ice cream date back to around 500 BC? The Achaemenid Empire, in modern-day Iran, are known to have combined ice with different flavours as a summer treat.” _

Q spouted off a number of ice-cream related facts whilst trying to decide between passion fruit sorbet or mint choc chip ice cream. While he was telling James about Catherine de Medici’s personal ice cream chefs, James purchased a two scoop cone with both flavours. Q trailed off, seemingly forgetting his point, and beamed at James. 

It was at that moment that James realised he might have a rather more serious problem than he had thought. 

As the day progressed, through spectacular views of the castle and exploring Malá Strana, James found it harder and harder to look away. The way the sun caught Q’s curls, tantalising glimpses of that unlikely tattoo, or when his eyes lit up every time they turned a corner and there was something new to discover, and how Q kept glancing at James shyly, afraid that his litany of facts was becoming dull. 

He was captivating, and more than once, James found he had to hold himself back from reaching out to touch. Whether he wanted to ruffle that unruly hair, take Q’s hand or pull him into an embrace, even James didn’t know, but still his fingers twitched.

When it came time to navigate Prague’s “narrowest street” ( _ “It’s not really a street, you know. The only reason there are traffic lights is because it’s too narrow for people to cross in both directions. You need to turn around at the other end to get back, though.” _ ) James, knowing the passage was a dead end, let Q take point. If he found himself watching Q’s six a little more literally than he’d led Q to believe, well, no one needed to know. 

When they took one look at the restaurant waiting at the other end of the passage and decided to seek sustenance elsewhere, James went ahead and was surprised how comfortable he felt with Q behind him. There was  _ none _ of the usual prickling in the back of his neck that came with being followed, just an easy companionship. 

Now, three months after Prague, lying on a beach in Greece, James wondered how this next meeting would go. Would Q be playing tourist, again? Dare he even think Q might play the lover, unavoidably delayed for their romantic getaway? 

Originally, he hadn’t expected to need field support on this mission, but when he’d gone down to Q branch to collect his kit, Q had seemed so fascinated by Rhodes and the ancient sites on view. After that, it had been a simple matter of having a quiet word with Moneypenny who, a romantic at heart, had colluded with R to send Q out for ‘urgent technical support’. Moneypenny had told James that Q had been building up too much overtime again, so the pair of them should be able to stay an extra day or two for sightseeing once the mission was over. 

James couldn’t wait to see Q’s face as he saw the ancient ruins. 

A shadow suddenly fell over him. 

Senses alert, even though he hadn’t noticed any possible dangers around, James cracked one eye open.

“Well, this is nice. Here I am, packed off on a  _ plane _ with no advance warning because James Bond needs technical support, and here you are,  _ sunbathing. _ ” 

James would admit that he had been hoping for a warmer greeting. Still, he would take what he could get, and  _ Q had called him James _ . Sure, it had been the full name treatment, but it was still the first time Q had used his name. 

Q looked grumpy and adorably rumpled, and yet he didn’t look out of place at all. 

As James had come to expect, Q had picked an outfit that would allow him to seamlessly blend in with the crowds. Today, he was wearing a light linen shirt, pale blue cargo shorts, the same baseball cap he had worn in Prague and… were those  _ flip flops? _

James took a moment to take in the sight of Q essentially barefoot, and decided he liked the look. 

Sitting up and moving so that his own feet (professionally covered with boat shoes - an agent never knew when they would have to make a run for it) were on the ground facing Q, James looked closer and realised he  _ didn’t _ like what he saw after all. 

A tightness at the corners of Q’s eyes that James had come to associate with stress, lips distractingly plump, but bitten to soreness, with a redness in his knuckles that suggested Q had been rubbing his joints, a nervous tic that James was reasonably sure Q didn’t think he had noticed. 

“Was there a problem with the flight?” 

“Only that there  _ was _ a bloody flight,” Q murmured, throwing himself down on the spare sun lounger with a huff, “terrible things, planes.”

A faint memory stirred in the back of James’s mind.

_ “... and Q’s afraid of flying.”  _ Macau. Moneypenny. Before everything with Silva had gone to shit. 

“You’re afraid of flying?” James asked, feeling guilty. The only reason Q had been forced on a plane was because James had wanted to surprise him.

“Not…  _ afraid _ , as such, but when you spend all day trying to figure out what could go wrong and how to avoid it… well, there’s a lot that could go wrong on a plane.” Q shrugged, self-consciously. “And as I don’t know how to fly them myself, there's nothing I can do to mitigate the risks.” 

When he put it like that, James could see why Q might want to avoid planes. As a double oh, James accepted that there were risks to everything and there was no point trying to avoid them, but Q’s perspective was very different. He saw it as his job to keep his agents safe and bring them home, and so attempted to control the variables as much as possible. 

“I’m sorry, Q. I didn’t realise.” 

“Yes, well, I’m here now,” Q replied breezily, though James could see that the bravado was forced, “though you may need to manhandle me to get me back on the plane home.”

That… was an image that James most certainly  _ didn’t _ need whilst he was only wearing what he now realised were rather  _ tight _ swimming shorts. 

Trying to distract himself from the image of Q’s lithe limbs and slim, delicate wrists pinned under his own hands, James decided to come clean. If Q was going to be mad, better to have the mission as a distraction until he calmed down.

“About that…”

“Oh, God, don’t say you expect us to  _ sail? _ ” Q asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Not this time. Commander Bond doesn’t plan to resurface anytime soon,” James smiled, “but I’m afraid I lured you here under somewhat false pretenses.”

Q frowned. James noticed, not for the first time, that Q scrunched up his nose when he did so. It could only be described as  _ cute _ . 

“Did R put you up to it? This isn’t because of the incident with 002, is it? Because, frankly, Wilson deserved it.” Q gave him a suspicious look.

“No, R - wait, what happened with 002?”

Q blushed. On his pale skin, the effect was very fetching. 

“Oh. Nothing.” 

James raised a sceptical eyebrow. 

Q sighed. 

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” he demanded in his Quartermaster voice.

“I promise,” James agreed, solemnly. 

He had seen Q flustered, but never this embarrassed. James desperately wanted to know what happened, just in case he might need to arrange a ‘workplace accident’ for 002. Nobody would miss him, Wilson was a prick. 

“When he came back from his last mission in Tunisia, he… suggested that I take a holiday.” 

Q kept his gaze trained firmly on the sand between their loungers. It seemed unlikely that Q was telling him the whole story. 

“Well, personally, I think holidays are  _ always _ a good idea,” he remarked, casually. Q would explain more if he wanted. If he didn’t, well, James could always corner Wilson in the locker room one of these days. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Yes, we all know that, 007, you have a habit of buggering off to ‘relax’ after every other bloody mission.” Q lifted his head and quirked a half-hearted smile at James. “He…  _ implied _ that a week of sun, sea and sand might help with my complexion and…  _ relax me. _ ” 

Q spat the last words with venom, but James could tell he wasn’t quoting.

“What did he say, exactly?” 

James couldn’t help the dark undercurrent of anger in his voice. Q looked surprised. 

“He said it might help ‘that pasty little nerd get rid of the stick up his arse.’” 

Q deflated, sinking further into his sun lounger and curling his legs beneath him. 

James clenched his hands into fists, wishing that 002 were here, if only so James could punch him in his stupid face. 

He forced himself to relax, feigning nonchalance.

“Well, whilst I personally see no problems at all with your arse,” he winked, “I imagine that you could use a little more vitamin D. You spend all your time sending us to exotic places, it’s about time you earned a holiday of your own. Besides, if you come back with a tan and the same personality, it just proves to him that he’s the one who has a stick up his arse.” 

Q laughed, smiling genuinely for the first time since he had arrived at the beach, and James prided himself on a mission accomplished. 

“Mission first, Bond. We can tan later. What is your status?” 

“All present and correct, Quartermaster,” James replied, gesturing at his current lack of injury. He noticed Q’s gaze dropping a little lower than was usually polite, before catching himself and looking James firmly in the eye. He resisted the urge to preen a little. 

“Cover established as a British businessman enjoying a well-earned holiday, awaiting his unavoidably detained holiday companion,” he nodded at Q, who blushed again, “who has now finally arrived.” 

“You don’t think that will make us stand out?” 

“It may have escaped your notice, having avoided popular holiday resorts, but many people take holidays with friends these days. Travelling alone is expensive and lying alone on a beach for a week is dull. No one will think anything out of the ordinary. Even if people do mistake us for lovers, that’s hardly anything uncommon these days.” 

James noticed Q blush harder and look away at the thought of being mistaken for lovers. 

Whilst Q had never made any secret of his sexuality, James couldn’t help feeling a little stung that Q clearly thought the idea of being mistaken for James’s lover was so terrible. He supposed that Q usually went for men like himself, delicate and young, rather than an old, battle-scarred bulk of a man like James. 

“Right. Of course. And the target?” 

“Oh, her. She’s not expected until tomorrow. Plenty of time to tan until then.”

Q just stared at him, speechless, before sighing and shaking his head, mumbling something that sounded like “I should have known” under his breath. 

James had just decided to sit back, close his eyes and act casual for as long as Q decided to stew, when he heard Q rummaging around in his bag and startled when something landed with a thump on his chest, rolling to settle on his toned stomach. Opening his eyes, he discovered that it was a bottle of sunscreen. 

He looked at Q with a questioning glance.

“Well, if you’re so determined for me to get a tan, you can make sure I don’t burn,” Q said primly, unbuttoning his shirt and baring miles of skin that James wouldn’t admit he had dreamed about.

Q had a runner’s physique, compact but muscular. While he was admittedly rather pale, his torso would have made sculptors  _ weep _ . 

“Objective confirmed, Quartermaster,” James smiled, squirting some of the cream onto his palm.

Q shivered as James brought his hands into contact with his shoulders and smoothed them down the long expanse of his back.

Yes, James thought,  _ this _ was a mission he could get on board with. 


	6. Paris

James had never really understood why Paris was called the City of Love. In his experience, Paris was the city of dirty streets, rude weather and too many tourists. 

Right now, Paris was the city of November sleet, traffic jams and boring reconnaissance missions. 

The past four days of shadowing the latest target (learning their routine and planning the best moment to intercept the arms deal in progress) had given him plenty of time to think. 

It had been a year since Silva.

Twelve months, almost to the day, since the old M, the  _ real  _ M, the one person he thought was anchoring him to MI6, died in his arms. 

How did the saying go?  _ Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.  _

The more things change, the more they stay the same. 

It was true. In the immediate aftermath of the Silva incident, James hadn’t seen how a future with MI6 could possibly be on the cards. There was no one left to keep him coming back after all, and he felt old and  _ tired.  _ He  _ had _ half-considered just not coming back from the next mission, though he had carefully avoided thinking about whether that would involve just staying away, or a more permanent end. 

At first, he had stayed out of some morbid sense of curiosity: he waited to see what sort of hash Mallory would make of things. Except Mallory  _ hadn’t _ made a hash of things. He’d had a few minor teething problems, of course, but with time and distance, James could see that the change of leadership really  _ had _ been for the best. Mallory bought a fresh, modern perspective to the role of M, and was keen to see MI6 move with the times. James just wished the change hadn’t come with the death of one of his last remaining connections to humanity.

Now, a year later, he admitted to himself that he’d also stayed because he wanted to find out what made the new Quartermaster tick. But every time he learned something new about Q, he had a hundred more new questions. 

Over the course of those memorable few days in Rhodes, James had learned more than he had ever expected. 

He’d learned that, no matter how much time he spent in the sun, Q just  _ did not tan. _ Anything less than factor 50 sunscreen meant that he went from ‘rarely sees daylight’ to ‘overcooked lobster’ in a matter of hours, so he only succeeded in gaining a slightly less pasty complexion by the time they flew home. 

He’d learned that after a couple of drinks, Q got giggly, laughing (and on one occasion  _ snorting _ ) at his own jokes, but that he never drank to get drunk, switching to a soft drink around the time the giggling started. 

He’d learned that having Q on site to run interference (blocking their drug smuggling target’s credit card, so that she had to spend an unpleasant hour trying to explain to the hotel management why her payment hadn’t gone through) gave James ample time to achieve the mission objective without a shot being fired. 

A year ago, it would have taken him days of getting close to her, working his way into her bed, before he would have had the chance to get into the hotel safe and seize both the drugs and the mobile phone holding the details of all of her contact. 

Once, he might have regretted the lost opportunity. Now, he felt relieved at not having to fake a desire he didn’t feel. 

If he were really, truly honest with himself, James felt quite a different desire these days. Maybe it had started in an art gallery, in front of a very artistic metaphor. Maybe it had been later, when he’d decided to unravel the mystery that was Q. 

Maybe it had been on a sunny June day in Prague, when Q had smiled at him and his smile had outshone the sun. 

“Putain de merde! Maudit taxi!” 

James was pulled from his reverie by a familiar voice speaking in a decidedly  _ unfamiliar _ manner. He turned his head to find Q scurrying over to where James was sitting at a window seat in the busy cafe. The door must have opened while he was distracted. Terrible habit, for a spy. 

“Salut, Q,” he greeted with a cheeky grin. “I didn’t know you had such an extensive vocabulary of French swear words.” 

Q glowered. Removing his glasses, he frowned at the water droplets spotting the lenses, and proceeded to clean them off with his sleeve. 

James took the opportunity to take in Q’s appearance, and frowned. Usually, Q managed to blend into a crowd seamlessly, fitting in wherever he went. Tonight, bundled up in his parka - unbuttoned, as though he had put it on in a rush - with his bag over his chest, he hardly looked like someone dressed for the opera. 

“You can’t go to the opera looking like that,” he observed. 

Q huffed, and as he went to put his glasses back on, James caught a glimpse of a bow tie peeking out from under Q’s coat. 

“I’ll take my coat off when we get there.” 

Now that he’d seen that tantalising glimpse of something new and unexpected, James couldn’t help but wonder what else was hidden underneath the coat. The cafe where they had agreed to meet was crowded and poorly lit, so he couldn’t quite make out what else Q was wearing. 

Smart shoes and dark trousers, that was all. 

He found the sudden idea that Q was hiding a tailored dinner jacket under his bulky parka  _ very _ distracting. 

Slowly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, James drained his glass and stood, donning his own wool greatcoat. 

Q had texted him an hour ago to change their rendez-vous point, once it became apparent that his delayed train meant they wouldn’t have time to meet at the hotel as planned. Thankfully, they still had plenty of time before the opera started to show their faces and find their seats. Once the lights dimmed and the curtain fell, they could get to work. 

As they walked side by side down the narrow street towards the Palais Garnier, James caught Q glancing at him every so often. He looked nervous and a little uncomfortable. James had a sneaking suspicion that Q, chameleon though he appeared to be, was not at home in formal dress. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked finally.

Q sighed. It was a deep, heavy sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul.

“You.”

“ _ Me _ ? What have I done?” James was confused.

“You make it look so easy.”

“The suits?” 

James was guessing, but it seemed the only thing Q could possibly feel inadequate about next to  _ him _ . Q was brilliant. He was more intelligent than James would ever be, and he could fit in almost anywhere he went. What did  _ Q _ have to feel self-conscious about?

“Everything. The suits, the missions, the way you find a way to complete the mission against all odds despite being bloody hopeless at maintaining a cover. Hell, with the amount of time you spend in Q branch these days, you know more than most of my minions! You know, when they told me you were the best, I was sceptical, but now? I don’t know how I ever doubted you. And yet you stand there the whole time, with that  _ smile  _ of yours and those beautiful bloody  _ eyes _ ! When you look at me, it feels like I’m the only thing in the world that you can see. You’re all I can think about! It’s not fair! I didn’t ask for this, you know!”

James paused on the steps of the opera house, staring at Q as if he’d gone mad. 

He had been so  _ sure _ that Q thought James was basically useless. All that talk about being scrapped, and achieving more in his pyjamas than James could in the field. That day on the South Bank, with Q joking about pensions and pointing out that even for someone wearing a suit, he was old-fashioned about it. In Solden, he’d laughed at James’s suggestions to get into the target’s room and accused him of having no life. And then the meeting in Prague, in front of the clock, old and scarred but still working. The way he had seemed so embarrassed by the thought of being mistaken for James’s lover in Greece.

All of those things added up to make James think Q thought him  _ old and obsolete. _

When he’d started hanging around Q branch more, he’d thought that maybe, Q would see that he was trying to keep up with the changes. That he  _ did _ appreciate the more modern turn MI6 was taking, and was trying to move with it. Q certainly made less jokes about his age and perceived lack of technical prowess within the confines of MI6. Hell, Q knew full well that James was a pretty good hacker on his own, even if he wasn’t anywhere near the Q branch standards.

Come to think of it, the only time Q had ever made any comment that James had thought was about his age  _ within MI6 _ was when he’d told James to put his back into it. And in hindsight, that had a lot more to do with urgency than doubting his abilities. 

Had Q  _ not _ been insinuating that James was past his prime, this whole time?

Was it really  _ James _ who had been thinking he was old and useless, who had been reading too much into Q’s lighthearted teasing? 

Q, who had  _ noticed _ James looking at him like he was the only thing worth seeing. 

Did Q  _ really _ find him desirable, too?

“Oh,” he said eloquently. 

Q sighed again, somehow blushing and looking dejected at the same time.

“Come on, let’s go inside. You can let me down gently later.”

_ Let _ him  _ down _ ...?

Q brushed past James through the door, holding out his ticket for the doorman. By the time James had recovered enough to catch up, Q was shrugging out of his coat. 

James stared at Q, for the second time in as many minutes. He was resplendent in a dark green velvet dinner jacket and black bow tie. The colour brought out Q’s eyes beautifully, and James could barely look away long enough to take in the rest of his outfit. 

Far from being out of place, Q was magnificent. 

“What?” Q frowned at him self-consciously. “I know it’s not exactly on your level, but it’s the only jacket I have that’s appropriate for the opera. I didn’t have time to buy a new coat, either. Does it look  _ that _ ridiculous?” 

James couldn’t think of the right words to explain to Q how  _ not _ ridiculous he looked. 

Instead, he did the only thing he could think of to express his appreciation. He stepped right up to Q and pulled him into a kiss. 

Q’s lips were as soft and plump as they had always looked, and after a brief second of shock, he relaxed into the kiss with a passion James was not expecting. 

It was everything James had imagined. Q’s mouth, Q’s silky hair running through his fingers,  _ Q’s _ fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Q’s  _ mouth! _

As with all such things, it was over far too soon. 

Q looked intently at him, flushed and panting as he regained his breath. It was a look that James dearly hoped to see a lot more of in the near future. 

Knowing they had a job to do, James couldn’t help giving Q one last, lingering peck on the lips.

“Mission first,” he said, pulling away regretfully, “but I plan to spend the rest of the night showing you just how very much I do  _ not _ want to let you down gently. Then maybe you’ll finally tell me where you learned those swear words.” 

Q laughed delightedly, and James led the way to the auditorium feeling lighter than he had in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. Thank you once again to Tibby for drawing this wonderful picture and allowing me to run with it in a direction that was probably not quite what they anticipated! I had a lot of fun writing, and I hope you enjoyed reading :) Let me know in what you thought!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Deep Parts Pour Onward by SouffleGirl91](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25303183) by [christinefromsherwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood)




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